


you left a hollow (where your body cut an alcove)

by ivorykeys09



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-20
Updated: 2014-10-20
Packaged: 2018-02-21 20:25:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,055
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2481299
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivorykeys09/pseuds/ivorykeys09
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(He spends the time thinking of what he’ll do with his life if Amy’s okay, because he can’t think of what he’ll do with his life if she’s not.)</p><p>Season One AU, sort of. Happens around the finale, but there's no Teddy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	you left a hollow (where your body cut an alcove)

. 

 

His dad left on a Tuesday.

His rent check is always due on a Tuesday.

The Nets lost last Tuesday.

(Nothing good ever happens on Tuesdays.)

 

**.**

**.**

**.**

 

**Tuesday**

 

It wasn’t even 9 o’clock and the day had already started off rocky.

He’d walked slowly into work—the lip of his coffee cup clenched between his teeth, his hands attempting to tie his tie—when Charles had run up and punched his shoulder. Jolted, the coffee had spilled down his front,  _not_ missing his tie of course, and promptly emptied all over the floor. “What the hell, Boyle?!”

“Sorry Jake,” Charles says, eyes both apologetic and fired up. He explains himself while they mop up the mess, “You know Chris Parker? The guy who—”

“Robbed all those 7-Elevens and had that hit-and-run last month? Yeah, I know him.”

Boyle leads him to the equipment room, where the rest of the team is already suiting up. “Well, he’s resurfaced again and is up to no good.”

Laughing, Jake opens his locker. “Up to no good? Way to be a grandma, Boyle, am I right?” he cracks, looking around for an audience.

Charles ignores him. “Jake, he and his cohorts kidnapped a little girl.”

Some of the others breeze in. “We got a tip that they’re holding her hostage in an abandoned building by the bridge,” Rosa adds, tightening her protective vest. “We’re all going. Holt requested back-up already. Eighty-seven.”

Jake nods, all jokes vanishing from his mind. “How old’s the girl?”

“Six.”

They all turn to Santiago. Her cheeks are flushed, eyes a little wet. “She’s _six_ ,” Amy repeats.

“Jesus.”

She slams her locker shut. “My niece is six. I mean, who would do that? Who _could_ do that?”

Before anyone can answer, Holt appears in the doorway. It’s silent for a moment, before he finally speaks. “You know what to do.”

They all nod.

Rosa leads them out. “Let’s get these fuckers.”

 

**.**

 

“Nailed it!” he says, hand flying up to high-five Boyle. Not catching on, Charles jumps in the air and awkwardly bumps his chest against Jake’s arm. “Okay, I was going for the high five, not the chest butt, but we’re kinda on the same page,” Jake says, mostly to himself, since Boyle’s already turning to fist-bump Rosa.

“Dudes, that was _tight_ ,” she tells them, breaking character and actually flashing a wide smile for once. It slips away just as fast though, as her eyes focus on something behind him. “Hey, why’s Sarge by the ambu—”

Jake hears her voice falter as she figures it out, a split second before he does, and his heart does this thing where it literally _stops,_ because strapped to the gurney is Amy.

They all fire questions as they sprint over to the ambulance, (well, except him, because he can’t remember how), and Sarge all but ignores them. He just continues helping the medics load Amy into the truck, calmly explaining what happened.

All he hears is, “ _Back-up missed it....fourth guy.....45 calibar..._ ” before the doors start to shut. Jake breaks out of his spell. “What hospital?” he yells.

He hears someone call back, “Methodist!” and then the ambulance is gone.

 

**.**

 

“I don’t get it. Wasn’t she behind us? I swear she was behind us when we left the building. Rosa took down the first guy. Jake, you nabbed the second in the back room, then me and Amy got the last guy. Perkins. Or was it Parker?  I forget. Whatever. I still don’t get it...Amy cuffed him, didn’t she? Holt carried out the girl, Amy cuffed Parken, and I led him out. She was behind me though. She was definitely behind me. She was behind me, right Jake?”

Rosa saves him. “Boyle,” she warns, “if you don’t shut the fuck up right now, I swear to god...” Instead of finishing her thought, she leans harder on the pedal, speeding up to make it through a yellow light. They have the lights flashing and the sirens hollering as loud as they can go, but she’s clearly not fucking around on time. The thought makes him feel sick. 5% because of Rosa’s driving and 95% because, you know, _Amy’s been shot._

His chest feels tight.

He’s confused to see the Captain standing in the ER when they arrive, then remembers he must’ve been in the first ambulance with the little girl. He ignores Holt, who looks puzzled at his squad’s sudden appearance, and instead scans the room for Sarge. He spots him by the nurse’s desk.

“Sarge!”

Jake nearly chokes when he turns around. His shirt is soaked with her blood.

Sarge puts up both hands, already bracing for Jake’s reaction. “Calm down, Jake.”

“Where is she?”

“Calm _down_ , Jake.”

“Where _is_ she?”

He raises his voice. “Jake, _calm down!_ I’m not gonna tell you anything until you take a breath.”

 _All_ his effort goes into inhaling through his nose and exhaling out his mouth.

“There. Where is she?” Jake demands. The room goes silent and still and, for the first time, he feels embarrassed at his reaction to everything. He tilts his head down, avoiding his boss’s knowing look. “She’s...” He clears his throat to rid the rising emotion from her name, and tries to play it cool, “...you know, my partner,” he finishes lamely.

Sarge’s eyes soften. “They took her into surgery. They’re not sure what they’re dealing with yet, but they promised to keep us updated.” He catches Jake’s eyes glance at the Authorized Only doors, as if mentally planning how to break through them, and moves to block the path.

Noticing this, Jake glares and walks over to a row of chairs, dropping in a seat and leaning his head in his palms. He runs his fingers through this hair, roughly grabbing fistfuls of it to give his hands something to do. The pain from his scalp is all he can focus on to diminish the urge to run and push his boss out of the way. He just has to wait.

So he waits.

 

**.**

 

And waits.

And waits.

And waits.

 

**.**

 

_He’ll exercise every day. He’ll go on a diet. He’ll do all of his paperwork without complaining. He’ll stop making jokes at Boyle’s expense. He’ll call his mom more often. He’ll volunteer. He’ll babysit Sarge’s twins. He’ll wear a tie every day._

(He spends the time thinking of what he’ll do with his life if Amy’s okay, because he can’t think of what he’ll do with his life if she’s not.)

 

**.**

 

Gina, for once, is silent. Boyle raids the vending machines, creating a pile of snack food no one touches. Rosa waits in the car outside, hiding any emotion she may be feeling. Holt and Sarge sit on either side of him, each alternating asking the nurses for updates.

He doesn’t know who, but someone calls her family. His head still hangs in his hands, but he hears someone calmly ask, “Can someone tell me where my Amy is? Anyone?” Her voice is soft, but stoic, as if she’s been bracing for this day for years.

He looks up in time to see her mother follow a nurse through the doors.

His head bowed again, he listens to Dr. Phil and Ellen and the 5 o’clock news (and kids throwing tantrums in the waiting room and Boyle crying and nurses gossiping and those fucking Authorized Only doors opening and closing with everyone but Amy’s doctor) before he hears footsteps and Captain Holt stand up.

Jake’s on his feet the second the doctor reaches them. “It was just a knife wound. The amount of blood loss made it look like a GSW to the chest, but she must’ve knocked the gun out of his hand before he could aim. The knife punctured her right shoulder, just missing the bone, but still cutting deep; other than needing fifteen stitches, it caused no serious muscle damage.  The blood loss required a few liters of blood, though.” He looks down at his clipboard, scans it. “The blunt force of the attack also broke her collarbone and three ribs in her upper right quadrant. Those will heal with some rest. She’ll be fully recovered in about eight weeks, give or take, and can go home in a few days.” His face, although still serious, unearths a smile. “She’s very lucky.” 

“Thank you, Doctor.” Holt says, shaking his hand.

He feels Sarge briefly rest a palm on his shoulder (a covert gesture he appreciates), before pulling away.

“Can we see her?” Charles asks, sounding relieved. It’s been hours since Jake’s had a look at his friend; he looks awful.

The doctor nods. “Her mother said you’d probably want to see her. Two at a time in the room, though. She’s not awake yet, but let’s not overwhelm her just in case, okay?”

As the group follows the doctor, Jake veers and heads for the exit. He only stops when he reaches the car, tapping on the driver’s window. Rosa lifts her forehead off the steering wheel, her red eyes immediately searching for the intruder. When they settle on Jake, she takes a breath and rolls down the window, steeling for the news.

He’s gone mute again for some reason, so he just nods, letting out a long breath as he leans on the hood of the car.

Rosa breathes out a “thank god” and unbuckles her seatbelt to get out. He doesn’t think twice as he pulls her into a hug, tight enough to feel her racing heart beat against his.

Inside, Rosa visits the room briefly, more to introduce herself to Amy’s mom than anything, then puts her keys in Jake’s palm as she leaves with the squad. No one seems surprised that he stays.

He spares a quick glance at Amy and is shocked at how pale she looks; he’s glad to see the bag of blood hooked next to her bed. And while the oxygen mask should be ruining her beautiful face, it somehow doesn’t.

“I’m sorry, but I don’t think we’ve been introduced yet,” her mother says, startling him. He’d forgetten she was there.

“Oh, I’m sorry. I’m Jake Peralta. Amy’s partner.”

“Jake,” she echoes.  Her voice sounds slightly surprised, but also...not. As if she’s heard his name many times before and is thinking: _Oh, so it’s you. You’re Jake._

He backs up, heads for the door. “I should go, give you some time. It was nice meeting you.”

But once he’s in the hallway, he’s drawn back to the room. Amy’s mom is already sitting on the edge of the chair, elbows resting on the bed, her gaze focused on her daughter.

“Mrs. Santiago?”

“Paloma,” she says, moving her eyes to him. “Call me Paloma.”

“Okay, then. Um...Paloma...can I get you anything before I go? Something to eat? A cup of that watered down drink they’re calling coffee?” 

Paloma flashes him a smile nearly identical to her daughter’s. “Thank you for offering, but my husband is bringing some dinner.” She hesitates for a moment, but then asks, “Can you do me a favor, though?”

She asks him to go to Amy’s apartment and pack her a bag of clothes. Her toothbrush. Her pajamas. This one face moisturizer Amy loves. Things that will make the hospital feel more comfortable for her when she wakes up again.

 

**.**

 

The second he’s inside her apartment, he’s hyper aware of everything. There’s just something strange about being there without her.

It’s still pretty old-timey, but he notices she’s gotten a new couch and curtains since Thanksgiving. The drapes are striped (and look suspiciously like the ones he saw in Holt’s house, if his memory serves correct), and the couch looks so comfortable he just wants to flop down and fall asleep. Exhaustion thrums through him at the thought, but he ignores it and heads to her bedroom.

At the sight of the closed door, he stops, hand grasping the knob. He’s embarrassed to admit how many times he’s thought about her bedroom in the past few months (he’s pictured different variations, but they all include a queen-sized bed, her grandma’s bureau, and Amy with zero clothes on) and he can’t believe this is how he’s seeing it. He doesn’t like that the first time is without her.

He pushes the thought away and opens the door. Looking around, he realizes he’s got 2 out of 3.

Queen-size bed... _check_.

Vintage chest of drawers (probably her grandma’s)... _check._

There’s no Amy, but her clothes are there. A pink blouse and gray slacks are piled on an armchair in the corner, as if they were thrown, and he immediately recognizes them as her clothes from yesterday. Before he gets too distracted by how far away yesterday seems, he finds a bag in her closet and fills it with clothes. He goes for soft, cotton neutrals in both her shirts and sweatpants, so everything will match, and a set of cozy-looking pajamas.

When he opens her underwear drawer, his pulse starts to race. Even though her mom asked, he can’t shake the feeling that he’s violating her privacy. What kind of underwear do people wear in the hospital, anyway? Cotton? Lace? A thong? He thinks it over while he grabs a few pairs of socks and then decides on cotton brief-looking panties since they seem like the comfiest option. The hard stuff is done.

But then he walks into the bathroom and he’s overwhelmed again. The toothbrush and toothpaste are easy, but the ten different moisturizers on the counter are not. He spends twenty minutes reading each label and description, internally debating which to pack, and ends up with two (a daily face lotion and a sleep serum, since they smell achingly familiar) then zips the bag and leaves.

 

**.**

 

When he gets back to the hospital, Amy’s mom isn’t there. Her purse is on the chair, though, so she's around somewhere.

The only sounds are the gentle, rhythmic beeping of a machine. There’s a notepad and pen on the side table with medical notes written in cursive. His eyes flit down the page and scan her mother’s handwriting; it’s pretty much everything the doctor told them earlier but with a few bullet points about her medication.

“You have coffee on your tie.”

Fear whooshes out of him at the sound of her voice. He takes a beat before looking at her.

She starts to pull her oxygen mask off, and even though it’s precautionary, he shakes his head. “Uh uh. Keep that on.” He grabs the notebook and pen, flips to a new page, and places it in front of her. “Write.”

Her eyes squint in annoyance, and he can hear an echo of a scoff from behind the plastic mask, but she picks up the pen anyway and begins to write.

_How’s Cassie?_

Confused, he asks, “Cassie? Who’s Cassie?”

_The girl I just saved, dumbass._

“She’s okay. I think. I’m...pretty sure she’s fine.” Honestly, he doesn’t really know.

_Can you check on her?_

He lets out a long breath. She’s always worrying about others, even in a hospital bed herself. He doesn’t really want to leave the room, but he can’t really say no, so he nods and promises her he will.

“Only if you answer this question.”

She squints and writes: _What?_

 _“_ Why do you have so many moisturizers?”

 

**.**

**.**

 

**Friday**

 

Three days later (and two days after a perfectly fine Cassie) they make her leave the hospital in a wheelchair. He laughs as she fights Nurse Diane. “But I thought they only made new mothers do that?  It’ll look weird and sad if I don’t have a baby in my lap.”

“You could hold Mr. Buttons?” he poses, holding up the bear he’d bought her as a joke.

She scowls at him but takes the plush anyway, hugging it tightly on her lap. He does the honors and pushes her down the hallway, out the doors, and towards her parent’s car.

Even as he's leading her out—talking, smiling Amy—he has to keep telling himself _she’s okay she’s okay she’s okay she's okay_ like a mantra.

 

**.**

**.**

 

**Sunday**

From: Amy Santiago

11:03 AM

_SAVE ME!!!_

 

From: Jake Peralta

11:04 AM

_what happened???? where r u??_

 

From: Amy Santiago

11:04 AM

_smothered by my parents_

_they. just. won’t. leave. me. alone._

_my apartment_

 

He takes two minutes to catch his breath and slow down his pulse because _oh my god_.

 

From: Jake Peralta

11:06 AM

_from this point forward, no texts that say SAVE ME!!! are allowed unless ur dying._

_ok?_

From: Amy Santiago

11:07 AM

_ugh, well I technically almost did_

_but fine_

_whatever_

_just pllllease come_

11:09 AM

_can you bring those cinnamon buns I like?_

 

He shows up with the cinnamon buns, an overnight bag, and rehearsed promises to her parents that he won’t let her out of his sight. _(“Let me take the next shift. Yes, she’ll be fine. Yes, I promise I’ll help her walk to the bathroom. I’ll even stand there, if it’ll make you feel better.”_ Her parents beam. Amy uses her good arm to punch him.)

When she naps in her bedroom, he makes spaghetti and empties the dishwasher as quietly as he can. Then he sets out a tall glass of water and the three pills she needs to take when she wakes up.

When she does wake, he puts on a movie for them to watch. Halfway through he notices her fidgeting more than usual, anxiety evident in her eyes, and asks, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” she answers quickly, then gets up slowly to walk to the bathroom.

Eight minutes later, he knocks on the door. “I was kidding before when I said I’d stand in there, but you’re tempting me to re-think that.”

Silence.

“Ame?” He doesn’t wait again and just opens the door, stopping short to take in the scene before him: band-aids everywhere; her sling and shirt on the ground; blood seeping slowly down her shoulder; his partner, standing in front of the mirror, naked above the waist, covering herself with her one good arm, crying. “Oh.”

She takes a ragged breath. “I have to change my bandage. I...I thought I could do it.”

He’s taken care of her in shifts throughout the days, has seen her in the hospital bed, on the gurney...but this—seeing her crying, with a bleeding shoulder and bruised ribs, looking so determined to not look helpless—this makes him pause.

He clears his throat. “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

After inspecting for any sign of infection (there's not), he gently cleans around the stitched wound and applies an ointment and a band-aid. He pointedly keeps his eyes directly on her shoulder, not looking once at her partially covered breasts.

She breaks the silence, voice embarrassed as she explains. “Bras are too tight.”

They’re so close together he can feel her breath against his skin. It’s unnerving.

“Bras Are Too Tight. Title of your sex tape,” he mumbles.

They both fight smiles as he continues his work, his joke successfully easing her embarrassment for a bit. Ignoring her weak protests, he wets a washcloth and runs it down each of her arms, around her back, and up her neck, since she’d complained earlier about how difficult it was to shower. He's too concerned with making her feel better than to realize how intimate the gesture is.

When she turns around to face him, left arm across her chest, her cheeks blush. The blood and tears had distracted him before, but now it’s just her and Jake.

He clears his throat. “Do you have a soft button-up or something? Might be comfortable and easy to put on.”

She nods and leads him out of the bathroom, holding her hurt arm close to her body, but not bothering to cover herself since he’s behind her. She roots easily through her drawers (and masterfully, considering she’s one-handed), and holds up a cotton shirt. She lets him put it on her when he promises not to look down.

He walks out of the room and comes back with her sling. As he adjusts the shoulder strap, she says, “I’m sorry. I didn’t think you’d walk in.”

He sighs. “Amy Santiago, stop apologizing.”

“Did you look?” Her eyes study his.

“No,” he lies.

(Her hand had slipped, just once, at the same time his eyes had dropped accidentally.)

“Jake.” She’s onto him.

He sits on the edge of her bed, smirks. “Fine. I admit it. I saw them. Happy?"

She rolls her eyes, but still looks embarrassed, so he moves to her. Tilting her chin so she’s forced to look at him, he says: “If you didn’t have a knife wound or broken ribs or eighty-three family members who could stop by at any second to ‘check in’, I would kiss you right now. But since you do, I’m going to ask you to promise you won’t repeat what you just did without my help, since _I_ can’t promise not to kiss you the next time you don’t have a bra on. Okay?”

She's staring so intently at his lips, but somehow manages an, “Okay.”

 

**.**

**.**

**Tuesday, again**

 

“Thank god,” Gina says as she opens the door. Dramatically, she drops to her knees and looks up, “ _Freedom_ , I thought I’d lost you!”

Jake rolls his eyes. “You’ve been here three hours, Gina. It couldn’t have been that bad.”

So, so seriously, she tells him, “Jake, it was the dullest three hours of my life. If Amy had a reality show, it would be cancelled before the first episode even _aired_.”

“She’s recovering from major injuries." He goes to enter, but she blocks the doorway. Sighing, he adds, "And may I remind you that you’re the one who volunteered to help?”

“Only to get out of _work_ ,” she says, as if it were obvious. “You owe me so hard. Start thinking of ways.” Smiling too sweetly, she waves and leaves. “Mmkay byyye!”

Amy is walking slowly out of her bedroom when he comes in. She looks as relieved to see him as Gina did, but confusion is etched on her face. “I thought Eddie was coming tonight?”

“Hate to disappoint, but I’m on Amy duty this shift. Also, your brother’s kind of an ass.” He’d received a text that said _hey mano!_   _can you take tonight?? gotta hot date, ya know? ;)_

(He’s now part of the Santiago Family email/phone/text chain.)

She laughs, but looks happy at the change of events. “Will you let me have a glass of wine?”

He thinks on that. Strong pain meds plus alcohol is probably not a smart move. Her parents would kill him. “Two sips.”

“Ugh. Fine.”

He orders Chinese, fires up Netflix, and helps Amy settle against the couch with her two sips of wine. She nods off two episodes into The Office, the pain medication lulling her quickly, so he watches a third with the volume turned down low. After shutting off the TV, he gently picks her up and carries her to her bedroom. He’s relieved she’s already in her pajamas, since attempting to help undress/dress her while avoiding her shoulder, ribs, and waking her up seems really difficult, so he just slides her under the covers. As an afterthought he tucks Mr. Buttons next to her pillow and goes to leave.

“Jake.”

He turns around in surprise. “I thought you were asleep.”

Amy shakes her head. “Come here.” Her voice sounds tired, low, and so very warm.

The look on her face, her voice... she has completely and utterly reeled him in and pulled him under.

He stops next to her head.

“Down here.”

He leans down and she sits up and their lips meet somewhere in the middle. The kiss is soft and perfect, and yet so matter-of-fact. Like it was something they do every night. He feels her smile against his mouth.

“Thank you,” she whispers. “For everything.”

“You’re welcome.”  A second later he adds, “I like being here with you.”

There’s a long moment of silence as she considers him. Then, “I want to keep you. Even after my ribs and shoulder heal, I want you here. Okay?” 

“Okay,” he agrees.

She asks him to stay, so he does.

 

**.**

 

(Some good things happen on Tuesdays.)

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from the song "The Breach" by Dustin Tebbutt.


End file.
